


Some of Us Don't Deserve Halos

by ArchangelUnmei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-07
Updated: 2010-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to find out about Arthur's family, Francis comes across a photograph capable of providing endless hours of entertainment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some of Us Don't Deserve Halos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shachaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/gifts).



> Written for the [FrUK Love Fest](http://community.livejournal.com/what_the_fruk/255226.html) over at What_the_FrUK. I framed it as one of those university AUs that are so popular, but ten years later.
> 
> Nikolaj is Denmark  
> Tolys is Lithuania (since Tolys is an actual _name_ , unlike Toris)

It wasn't that Francis was a snoop.

It was that he and Arthur had been seeing each other (neither one was really comfortable with the term 'dating', no matter what Alfred said, but at this point they couldn't really claim to be _only_ friends, either) for nearly seven months, and Arthur _still_ had shared very little about his family. Normally, Francis would have respected if he wanted to keep his past a secret, but family was _important_ and anyway whenever Arthur heard the word 'brother' a shiver passed through him that spoke more of merciless good natured humiliation than any _actual_ bad blood. And so Francis was dying to find out about them, this mysterious family of Arthur Kirkland's.

And so, while Arthur was at work one fine winter morning, Francis retrieved the spare key from under the loose brick at the side of the porch and slipped into his small, shabby house. And then, striding in as though he owned the place himself, Francis began poking around in his bedroom, looking for clues.

It didn't take him long to find the photo album, and really he wasn't surprised that he'd never seen it before, for Arthur had shoved it onto a bookshelf surrounded by mouldering volumes of ancient philosophy. Francis squinted to read the names on the cracking spines. Locke, Hobbes, how like an Englishman.

Francis sat down on the edge of Arthur's bed and brushed a hand lightly over the cover of the old album before opening it.

It was a good thing Arthur was at work, because it wasn't long before Francis's delighted laughter echoed through the small house.

~*~

Arthur was running late, so he called Francis and told him to go ahead to the party without him and Arthur would be along shortly. It was a little odd that Francis agreed so readily, but Arthur was trying to yell into his cell on the crowded metro and so didn't think anything of it at the time.

He arrived at Berwald and Tino's sprawling brick townhouse an hour later to find the party already gearing up into full swing. In years past, the annual party for their circle of friends had been held at either Ludwig and Gilbert's or at Roderich's, but both Ludwig and Roderich refused to ever host it again after the incident with Gilbert, Natalia and the pine wreathe, so this year Tino had stepped up to offer the house he shared with Berwald (and Nikolaj, technically, since the Dane lived in their attic).

Their social circle was a wide one. They'd all met in university, in ones and twos and kisses and slaps. Some of them were closer than others, but the connections were enough that they still got together year after year to eat, drink, and make merry (but mostly drink).

Arthur didn't bother to knock, knowing it wouldn't be heard over the music blasting from inside the house (Eduard must have won control of the stereo for the moment, it was Eurovision something-or-other). He adjusted the bottle of scotch he was carrying into one arm and pushed the door open. The music hit him like a solid wall, but he found himself smiling, hearing the laughter coming from farther inside the house. He nudged the door closed behind him, toed off his shoes and tossed his coat on top of the fuzzy jacket mountain already forming beside the door (Tolys must have given up on hanging them all up, or else he'd gotten dragged away by Feliks already).

Predictably, it was Alfred who assaulted him first, as he was setting down the scotch with all the other (highly alcoholic) drinks sitting on the kitchen table.

"Arthurrrr~" he warbled, and Arthur wondered how much spiked eggnog the boy had already downed.

"Oomph. Get off, you great ox, you're heavy," Arthur elbowed him sharply, and Alfred pouted but obediently dropped down off his back.

"I am not fat!"

"Sure, sure," Arthur rolled his eyes, straightening his jumper. "Who has mistletoe this year?"

"Elizaveta," he answered promptly, though that was no surprise. "And..." A panicked look came over Alfred's face, and Arthur perked up curiously. " _Ivan_ ," Alfred moaned. "He's paying more attention to Raivis right now but you _know_ how much he likes to mess with me!"

"Oh, yes," Arthur smirked a bit, privately thinking that what Alfred and Ivan _really_ needed was to have all lead pipes confiscated and to be shoved into a small closet together for a few hours.

"By the way, man," Alfred gave Arthur a curious look. "What the hell is up with that picture Fran has?"

Arthur stared at him blankly. "Come again?"

Alfred didn't get a chance to clarify, because about then there was a loud shriek and Antonio burst out of the kitchen, pink lipstick smeared across his face and _both_ Vash _and_ Lovino right behind him, apparently in perfect agreement that the Spanish playboy needed to be shot, Christmas or no Christmas.

Wisely, Arthur made a beeline in the opposite direction. As he stepped into the living room, he spied Francis across the crowded room, near the Christmas tree. He had his hair tied back with a red ribbon, and he and Kiku looked like they were in serious conversation about something. Arthur had been planning to ask him about Alfred's comment, but since Francis was busy he turned his attention to other matters.

After all, it was easy to be distracted when Nikolaj got drunk enough to start trying to table dance, with Gilbert and Sadiq whistling and waving twenties.

It took Arthur awhile to notice that Francis was deliberately avoiding him. He realized it just about the same time that he noticed that everyone (or most everyone, anyway, Raivis was a lightweight and had already passed out in the corner, and Feliciano was too busy playing with Hanatamago and Heracles's cats) were giving him odd smirks and snickering at him.

Frowning and suddenly remembering Alfred's earlier comment about a _picture_ , Arthur began trying to find Francis. He finally managed to find him in the hall near the stairs, where he and Matthew had their heads together. Matthew was giggling that muffled little laugh he had when he knew he _shouldn't_ be laughing at whatever he was laughing at. Arthur scowled, stormed over, and shoved his way in between them before either had a chance to react.

There was, indeed, a picture.

Arthur froze, eyebrows slowly lowering and eyes going stormy as he grabbed Francis by the collar and slammed him back into the wall, the photo fluttering from the Frenchman's fingers as Matthew fled for the relative safety of the living room. Arthur was vaguely aware that the talking and laughter had stopped as everyone tried to crowd into the doorway to watch what was going down, but that was all secondary and distant in the face of his rage. " _Frog-_ " he hissed angrily, baring his teeth in a snarl.

The photo settled peacefully to the carpet, taunting him. It had been taken when he was six, and showed a chubby-cheeked Arthur with the very same scowl that grown-up Arthur was now displaying, looking somehow adorable and awkward all at once in a lacy white _dress_ , rather tattered feathery wings and a tinsel halo that kept slipping down over one eye. It had involved _petticoats_. Arthur was reasonably sure his mother still _had_ that bloody costume around somewhere. And worse, leaning over Arthur's shoulders in the picture were three smirking boys, another blond and two red heads, all of them godammed _shepherds_ (and all of them, every single one, sharing the Kirkland eyebrows).

" _Frog,_ " he hissed again, slightly vindicated to see the wide-eyed, shocked look on Francis's face, "I'm going to _kill you_."

"Not on the carpets!" Tino yelped from somewhere behind him, and was promptly shushed by several people.

Arthur snarled, hands tightening in Francis's collar, taking an instant to savor the frightened look on Francis's face before he called upon years of bar brawling experience and kneed his boyfriend sharply in the groin.

There were moans of sympathy from behind him as he left Francis to slide bonelessly to the ground and turned to glare at the crowd shamelessly watching from the doorway. " _Well_?!"

For a moment no one quite seemed to know what to say. Then Feliks wiggled his way out from in between Tolys and Gilbert and stooped to pick up the picture. He examined it critically for a moment, then offered Arthur a beaming smile. "You know, you pull off the toga look pretty well."

~*~

Three very grumpy days later, Arthur came home to find that Francis had broken into his house _again_.

Sitting on the coffee table in the living room was a pot of poinsettias, with a plain envelope propped up against the base. Arthur scowled and debated just throwing the whole mess out with the trash, but finally his curiosity won out and he stomped over to snatch up the envelope and rip it open. He'd been expecting a fruity note, or perhaps a card. So he was surprised when, instead, a single photograph slid out into his hand.

It was face down in his palm, so Arthur got a look at the handwritten notation on the back first. _Francis_ was all it said, with a date in December some twenty years past. Eyebrows slowly raising, Arthur flipped the photograph over, and after a moment spent blinking in shock, his scowl eased and he began to laugh.

Though he'd never, _ever_ admit it aloud even under pain of death, Arthur had always thought that Francis was beautiful. He was even more so as a child, with cherubic round cheeks and curly hair that shone like spun gold. In the photo, the effect was ruined somewhat by the sulky pout gracing his features as he glared at the camera with an expression not unlike Arthur's in the similar picture that Francis had stolen.

But rather than being dressed as an angel, the child Francis was sulking in a curly-shoed, pointy-hat red and green elf's costume bedecked with more jingle bells than any single outfit had a right to bear.

Having that picture in his possession didn't make up for the humiliation Arthur'd suffered at the Christmas party.

But it was a good start.


End file.
